The Devil's Workshop

The boy put down his magazine and squinted at Jack. He straightened the front of his jacket and tossed the cigarette butt into the street. “Where you wanna go, sir?”

“Just a moment, please.”

Jack went around behind the wagon and walked over to the children standing against the short black fence along the opposite side of the street.

“You had a bicycle,” he said to the boy. “Where did it go?”

“Some copper just stole it away from me.”

“He did?”

“Just took it right out of me hands. Didn’t ask or nuffin’.”

“Oh, my. How dreadful.”

“You don’t know how much. That bicycle’s dear. Can’t afford a new one.”

“I’m sure he’ll give it back. He’s a policeman, after all. What was his name?”

“Said it was Hammersmith. Like the place.”

“You don’t say.”

“I do say! Never heard of anybody with that name before.”

“I have. Earlier this very day. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“Looks big enough to me.”

“Sergeant Hammersmith didn’t happen to tell you where he was going, did he?”

The boy looked Jack up and down. “He said to tell it to the police, not to any doctors.”

“Oh, but I’m a police doctor.”

“That’s different, then. He said he was going to an inspector’s house. Walter somebody. Walter Dew, maybe.”

“Could it have been Walter Day?”

“Yeah, that’s the name. In Primrose Hill.”

“Oh, my, but it is a very small world indeed. Thank you, young man.”

“You’re gonna get my bike back?”

“I doubt very much that I shall remember you by the end of the day. You should look after yourself and get your own bike back. How else will you learn self-reliance?”

Jack turned back to the wagon and climbed in. He patted the side of it with his palm and shouted up to the driver.

“We’re going to Primrose Hill, young man.”

“Where to in Primrose Hill?”

“Just get me to the area and I’ll sort it out from there. Do hurry. I promised a friend I would look in on his wife.”

56

Cinderhouse was careful about his approach. He did not go right up to the front door of the Day house. Instead, he left the road just after he crossed the bridge and traveled through the back gardens of the terrace houses connected to number 184. It was the same way he had left the house with the red door. When he had escaped that house, he’d been worried that Jack might be waiting outside for him. Here, he simply wanted the element of surprise. Day wasn’t as tall as the bald man, but he looked stronger, and Cinderhouse didn’t want to confront him head-on.

He had to climb a fence at the end of the row of homes, and when he fell down on the other side, his jaw bumped against his upper molars and the fresh wound in his mouth sent pain shooting up behind his eyes. He spit blood, wiped his lips on the sleeve of his jacket, and sat for a moment until the pain became bearable. Then he stood and straightened his collar and fixed his resolve. He needed to show Jack that he was capable, that he could follow through with a task. He needed Jack to respect him. And so he needed to kill Walter Day and his wife. It was the logical move to make.